Winter of the Best Snow

Winter of the Best Snow
by L. Stewart Marsden

Every Wednesday like clockwork for three weeks in a row
the weather forecasters forecasted deep snow.

Six to eight inches, they predicted each week.
The response of each child was a deep-hearted shriek
of delight, for that night in the dark the clouds would roll in
and silently, softly, the snow would begin
to fall to the earth.

School is closed. Locked up tighter than tight
and no worries o’er hist’ry nor mathmatics tonight —
For tonight all our noses are glued to the panes
of our windows and we know that the remains
of the storm — half a foot of white snow
awaits on the morrow for an army of kids.

Oh! Wax the red runners of Flexi-brand sleds,
Dig out toboggans and mittens and dredge
out old sweaters and stockings and stuff
and muff up our ears and lip balm our lips
and ready ourselves for a snow-trudging trip
to the best sledding hill — a mere four blocks away
where we’ll slide and we’ll glide till the end of the day
on those blue-glowing slopes that provide hours of fun
and finally, toe-numbed, we trudge frozenly home
at the last dwindling rays of the quick-setting sun.

“Strip ’em off here!” order moms with a shout,
and the soggy cold clothing splats onto the floor
of the kitchen where frozen blue bodies step out of the skins
and dash to the bathroom leaving footprints of wet
to thaw in the steaming hot shower or bath
and laugh at the times on the snow hills we had
and anticipate gathering round a warm fire
with marshmellows browning on bent coat-hanger wire.

Heavy cream and vanilla and sugar and snow —
the best winter concoction I ever did know —
a draught of delight — a heavenly brew
a manna no manner of manufact’ring could do.

That was the time — three weeks in a row —
and all who were there remember that snow
with the warmest of mem’ries they ever will know.